Butterflies & Characters

by Liz Hsu

  After scanning it, he said, “I don’t want you to work. I want you to focus on getting well this semester. I’m happy to pay for this, Ray.”

  “Really?” Mom would never just agree to pay for something like that.

  “Really. Now, come have a chamomile tea with me and tell me about your classes.”

  I turned on the kettle as Dad got out two mugs and teabags. We traded stories about our classes, and for the first time since I woke up, I felt a raw hope in me that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

  I was a little nervous to see Ray this morning because she’d looked so upset yesterday afternoon about cross-country. Crap, it had just about killed me when she said she loved running with her eyes close to tears.

  I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t imagine just giving up something you loved like that. Like music. I hated to think of not being able to play my instruments anymore. It’d been a rare silent and tense ride from school, too. I could see her fingers were swollen again, but hadn’t said anything. I knew she wasn’t ready for everyone to know about her lupus, but I didn’t think it was anything to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. But it was her decision, not mine.

  But apparently, my worries were unfounded. When I pulled up to her dad’s condo, she was beaming at me from the curb. She looked like a million dollars in a coral T-shirt dress and jean jacket with the sleeves rolled up. When she slid into the car, she startled me by pulling me into a hug. I momentarily lost the ability to think with her body touching mine, my face pressed into her jasmine-scented neck.

  She held tight, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. “You are the best, Charles,” she said before she slowly pulled away.

  Did she seem as reluctant to let me go as I felt, or was I imagining things? I put my hands back on the wheel and nervously tapped out a song.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “I’m going to start doing Iyengar yoga twice a week!” As if she couldn’t be more adorable, she was practically bouncing with excitement. “Thursday! I’m going to start it Thursday. That was really sweet of you to think of me.”

  My cheeks warmed at her praise as she rambled all about the class, the studio, and how excited she was.

  When we got to school, she was still beaming at me. “The best,” she repeated, threading her arm through mine. “You are the best.”

  I couldn’t help wondering again what her lips would taste like. Almost as if she could read my thoughts, she bit her lower lip and tugged my arm, making me realize I’d been salivating over her in the middle of the school parking lot. My cheeks burned, and I looked at the ground and hurried to keep up with her pace, trying to ignore the warmth of our still-linked arms.

  As we approached the door, Ray finally dropped my arm, but the butterflies in my stomach didn’t disperse.

  “What are you two grinning about?” Knox asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yoga,” we said at the same time. We glanced at each other and started laughing—like, deep belly laughing. I didn’t know why it was so funny, but her good mood was contagious.

  “Right, whatever, weirdos.” He shook his head at us, giving us a rare peek at his eyebrows and said. “Anyway, Charles, I’m stuck on this homework question for AP Chinese. Can you help me?”

  “You take Mandarin too?” Ray asked.

  “Yeah, man,” Knox said, pulling out a paper.

  “I’m a girl, thank you very much,” Ray said, putting her hands on her hips in a way that made us both chuckle.

  Knox smiled and winked at me before saying, “Tā shì piàoliang nǚrén.”

  I wasn’t about to disagree with him that Ray was a pretty girl. “Let me see the question.” I frowned down at his book and then shot him a disbelieving look. “Knox, why did you get the traditional book? Ms. Cheng said we’d be using the simplified. If you’re using this, your pages are going to be all wrong. You need to go to the library and switch textbooks.”

  “But the traditional characters are prettier,” Knox whined.

  “You can learn either, and on the exam you can pick either option, but I don’t know the page numbers so that I can cross-reference with my book. Go to the library or see Ms. Cheng.”

  We laughed as he walked away.

  “Chinese must be pretty easy for you?” Ray asked.

  “I have trouble with some of the writing. The characters are hard. I’ve only done it with my mom or in Saturday school, which Ms. Cheng also taught, but I decided to take the placement exam last year and I tested in. I didn’t want to have a life this year,” I joked, half-hearted.

  “Yeah, your workload gives me the sweats just thinking about.”

  I bumped her shoulder. “You have three AP classes. That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Well, one is art.”

  “Hey, your art is exceptional.”

  And it was. I hadn’t let her know, but I’d hung up her picture of our band in my room and loved looking at it. Her shading was extraordinary, and there was something stirring about the piece—almost movingly somber about the isolated figures in the stage light, yet spine-tinglingly beautiful at the same time. It reminded me of her untouchable beauty combined with her vulnerability.

  I leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Know what’s the best thing about taking AP classes?” She shook her head, close enough for me to get another whiff of her scent. “They’re made thinking about the Southern schedule. We have classes till June, not early May. AP exams are in April, so we get to do fun projects the last month of school. It’s still work, but more fun.”

  She smiled as the bell rang. “I didn’t think about that. You’re right.”

  Her smile lingered in my memory the rest of the day, and followed me into Wednesday and Thursday. Ray was becoming my first thought in the morning and last thought at night. Her timid smile, bouncy enthusiasm, and even the melancholy that clouded her eyes when she thought no one was looking—all of it stayed with me long after our short moments together in the car or at lunch.

  At lunch Thursday, schedules came up.

  “Yo, Charles, did you ever text James back about band practice?” Knox asked as soon as I sat down. “You and Kevin have robotics in the a.m., but are we practicing in the afternoon or on Sunday? I vote for Sunday because Saturday I have a short window.”

  I sighed. “Well, Sunday is better for us too. Saturday is our long kick-off meeting to break into our divisions. It could be late, and we’ll likely be tired.”

  “Cool,” Knox said. “I’ll start the group chat. Ray, what about you, any preference on Sunday?”

  She flushed red, but Knox’s eyes were on his phone. “No, whenever,” she said. “You guys know you’re my only friends.”

  Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine as she ate. I wanted to make extra plans to see her, but was spread thin. I already had so many assignments piling up, so Friday night and Saturday evening would be all catch-up. I really needed to place first in my next piano competition in late October, which meant I needed to practice more. Despite what people said about me, I wasn’t a genius. I studied a lot. Doing well was important to me—more than anything else.

  Knox missed it or ignored Ray’s comment about us being her only friends. “James said one and he needs to go by five.”

  “Fine,” I said, turning to Ray. “You can come a little early Sunday. We can study and have lunch. I know you like my mom’s cooking as much as me.”

  “Sure, thanks,” she said, but she was still picking at her food, not looking up.

  “I’d invite you to do something, but everyone is in town for my cousin’s bar mitzvah,” Knox said. “We have a huge family Shabbat dinner Friday, then the service in the morning. The party’s that night. I don’t think you’d have fun, because it’s all family, but if you’re interested…”

  “Shabbat?”

  “Like a religi
ous dinner for Jewish people—we say some prayers, light some candles, and have some wine. You can come.”

  “Oh, that’d be nice, but maybe not when it’s the whole family. But thanks. Can you invite me when it’s fewer people? My own family is intimidating enough.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, man, I know. We do it every Friday, and you are always invited.”

  “Knox.” I heard the teasing in her voice as she finally looked up. “I’m a girl.”

  The lunch relaxed after that. All this time, I’d never thought about how Knox rarely made plans with us on Friday night, because I usually studied. He caught me looking and said, “You’re invited too.”

  Maybe it would be fun to go to Knox’s sometime for Shabbat dinner. His mom was a good cook and we’d been friends for ages.

  Thoughts of anything but school blurred as afternoon classes resumed. Hours later, when the bell finally dismissed us for the day, I waited for Ray. She’d get to try the yoga for the first time today, and she’d told me we needed to get out of the parking lot ahead of traffic so she could talk to the instructor and sign the paperwork.

  She walked out of the classroom with Greg.

  “So Ray…well, I was wondering,” Greg was saying. “That is, if you want to come on Saturday too?”

  Ray offered him a shy smile. “I have plans in the morning and Dad’s meeting with his graduate students, so I wouldn’t have a ride. But thanks.”

  Greg stepped closer to Ray, invading her space. “I can drive you. I’d prefer to work out in the morning before meeting up with everyone anyway. My dad keeps asking me about you.”

  “I’m n—”

  “There’ll be a bunch of us at Luke’s. Don’t make me beg to be your friend,” he said, so low I almost didn’t hear.

  Her cheeks turned red and she took a step back. “Sure, okay, if you want me to come that bad. I need to go—I have an appointment this afternoon.”

  Greg put his hand on her arm to stop her. “Wait, let me get your number really quick, so we can work out the details tonight.” He got out his phone and looked at her expectantly.

  “Sure, Ray, R-A-Y, nine, one, two, fa-ah-i-ve…”

  I got distracted by how much more Southern she sounded when she rolled a word into four or five syllables.

  “What was that about?” I asked as we went to her locker.

  She packed her bag quickly. “Oh, um, Greg just wanted to hang out Saturday,” she said with a shrug.

  She looked anxious as she picked at her binder, but excited and hopeful at the same time. Suddenly, I was glad I hadn’t acted on James’s advice, or I’d feel like a real idiot.

  I walked into the small yoga studio, just off the main road, with Dad, not really knowing what to expect.

  “Can I help you?” a small muscular woman behind a desk asked.

  “Hi, um, I’m Ray. I emailed you.”

  “Yes, welcome. I’m Lanie. Here’s the paperwork, and this must be your dad?”

  Dad left after we filled out the liability forms, and Lanie showed me where the colorful studio mats were stacked. “Ray, this type of yoga is strict. You must do the poses with the correct alignment—you especially. You’ll need two blankets, a strap, and two wooden blocks.” She pointed everything out. “Also, you don’t do inversions while you are menstruating. We have adjustments possible for those poses though, so don’t worry. We have adjustments for everything. Doing the pose isn’t important; doing it perfectly is. Doing it wrong inflames the body; doing it right strengthens and soothes. For you this is especially important. If you can’t, we adjust. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Dante,” Lanie said to a lanky man entering the studio. “Can you help Ray set up her mat while I do check-in?”

  He helped me stack the blankets and said Lanie or the other instructors would get super mad if the blankets weren’t folded the right way, and to pay attention. He handed me a laminated card labeled “The Invocation to Patanjali” and told me how to sit.

  Lanie came in after the class filled and sat cross-legged, like us. “Okay, class, we have a new student today, so I will explain a little more. Is anyone menstruating?”

  My cheeks heated as two college-aged girls raised their hands and Lanie nodded.

  “Eyes closed. Palms together. All together for the invocation.” Lanie began chanting, and the class joined in. It was harmonic. Soothing.

  After the invocation, we moved through different poses. Lanie came up to me often, pulling my arm, telling me to straighten my back, or suck in my stomach. It was unlike anything I’d ever done. She led us to the rope wall, and everyone hung suspended, except for the two girls that had their periods. They were on the floor doing something else. I liked the class but dreaded the week I’d come and have to do the poses “more beneficial for menstruating.” It seemed embarrassing, but no one else seemed to mind, so maybe it was only in my head. Dante had been right: it was strict, but I liked it a lot more than I thought I would.

  I walked home past a few leaves that had turned so soon in the early Northern autumn before even the fall solstice. I was tired but calm in a way I hadn’t felt in a while. The night had a perfect breeze and the sun, still so late here, was just starting to set. Iyengar yoga was about as far removed from running as you could get, yet something about it had appealed to me. Before I’d left, Lanie said to drink plenty of water and she’d tell my Saturday teacher about me. And she warned me I’d be sore.

  I groaned as I opened the door to Dad’s condo Friday afternoon, Granny Young’s contact lighting up my phone. I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d been here. Granny Young was a more righteous version of my mom, and Mom was intense enough for me.

  I couldn’t even utter a greeting before, “Rayanne, darling, why haven’t you called your Granny Young?” blasted through the line.

  “Hi—”

  She cut me off. “Too busy to tell me you’re living in Michigan now? Hum?”

  “I thought Mom told you—”

  “What are people gonna say, Miss Rayanne? And your daddy is an atheist. How can you live with him?”

  “Granny Young, I was sick, and the healthcare is better here,” I rushed to get out.

  She drew in a deep breath and I cringed, knowing she was gearing up for a lecture. “Your health is important, pretty girl, but what about your soul, Rayanne? You are living with a godless man. Honey, you have to think about your eternal body, not just your physical one. Are you even going to church up there, Rayanne?”

  I felt my belly flutter at that hit. I hadn’t been yet. “Well—”

  “Why, I never, young lady. I knew that man would corrupt your soul. I told your momma, bless her heart…”

  I held the phone away from my ear as she screamed about things like “hellfire,” “eternal suffering,” and “damnation” for several minutes. This was why I hadn’t called her. I was pretty sure two people were responsible for my creation, but to my grandparents, there was one person to blame.

  After I let her rant for what I felt was long enough, I gently interrupted her. “Granny Young, I’m still watching the sermon videos from back home.” I winced at my lie, making a mental note to ask forgiveness later. I hated those videos and Mom’s preacher. “I’d love to find some friends at school to go to church with here. Dad is certainly not keeping me from going.” That was the truth. If I could find a church like Jeff’s, I’d be happy as a clam.

  She huffed. “I’m going to talk to your momma, sugar plum, and don’t think I won’t. I don’t know why she agreed to let you live with your father. He ruined her life, Rayanne! Your poor momma, bless her heart. One sin and her life changed forever. Luckily, Jesus can forgive us our sins, but you need to keep him in your heart, or else...” She trailed off.

  Afraid of another round of hellfire, I said quickly, “I will, Granny Young, I promise. I say my prayers every night.
”

  At least that one wasn’t a lie. She was making me nervous. I didn’t think I’d let the devil in me, but I also didn’t think my dad was damned for eternity just because he didn’t believe in God. I didn’t think Charles or Knox were either, just because they weren’t Christian.

  Finally, I got off the phone, and it lit up about fifteen minutes later with Mom’s number. I grit my teeth as I prepared for more eternal damnation. When I hung up, after promising to find a church, I heard Dad’s phone ring about a minute later.

  “Chrissy, no!” he said from the living room. “I don’t want our daughter to burn in hell. Who says shit like that? … Yes, I promise to take her to church, as long as that’s what she wants … No, I will not tell her that! What’s wrong with you?”

  Finally, it fell silent out there and I peeked out the door. Dad had stood up and was drinking a glass of whiskey. He barely drank, but I knew Mom stressed him out.

  “Do you want to go to church?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you honestly want to go? I mean it—not just you don’t want your mom yelling at you, because I can handle her.” He took another sip, nearly draining the glass. He’d probably need ten more of those before that conversation.

  “I honestly want to go.” I did. Just because I didn’t like Granny Young or Mom’s church didn’t mean I didn’t want to stay a Christian.

  His face softened. “If you can’t find someone to go with next Sunday, I’ll take you. I should have thought about it with everything you’ve been through.”

  I blinked. “You’d take me?”